Crow sculpture by Dexter Benedict

So real you might think he had flown in

through the window and landed on the white

pedestal like an apparition, a harbinger of hip.

He may be about to strut in his black feather coat.

The big Kahuna of the avian world, cocky and surefooted.

He may be about to forage, one eye on the look-out

for the demon hawk or coyote or a feral cat.

He may be about to call to another in his mimicable language

of caws, clicks, and rattles and even the sound of a bell.

He may be a helper bird, a tool user, part of a mobbing

gang and if you don’t treat him right, he will forever

hold a grudge. Can’t you see, he has the soul of a poet.